


All Steamed Up

by thatmasquedgirl



Series: Monsters in the Mirror [17]
Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: (I feel like that's a new tag), (one made especially for me), Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Dark, Dark, F/M, HAPPY 5TH ANNIVERSARY OF MONSTERS, I feel y'all have suffered enough, Oliver Queen/Felicity Smoak Unresolved Sexual Tension, One Shot, POV Felicity Smoak, POV Oliver Queen, Romantic Friendship, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Y'ALL DIDN'T THINK I WOULD FORGET DID YOU, so here's a thing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-16
Updated: 2020-03-16
Packaged: 2021-02-26 15:07:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,448
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23170141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thatmasquedgirl/pseuds/thatmasquedgirl
Summary: Oliver and Felicity discuss Felicity's newest near-death experience. And some other things, too.Takes place afterOne for the Teamin Bits and Pieces.Happy 5th anniversary of Monsters!
Relationships: Oliver Queen & Felicity Smoak, Oliver Queen/Felicity Smoak
Series: Monsters in the Mirror [17]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/228428
Comments: 54
Kudos: 200





	All Steamed Up

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, I am a disaster. It is 4 AM on a Monday as I'm typing this, and I spent most of yesterday writing this on WordPad because my Microsoft Office suite decided to crash. But I couldn't let 5 years of Monsters go without a little something to celebrate with.
> 
> This takes place shortly after "One for the Team," which you'll find in Bits and Pieces. If you like to jump in feet first, the Cliff Notes version of that fic is: Helena tries to shoot Laurel and Felicity dives in front of the bullets in my version of 2.17. Felicity takes three in the chest, nearly dies a few times, and finally recovers.
> 
> Reviews are life. Love to hear from you if you have the time.

Felicity wakes in a bed far too comfortable to be her own, nor is it the one in Verdant's basement. Her eyes fly open and she bolts upright at the realization.

Or _tries_ to bolt upright. The moment she tries to move, her chest screams in protest. She lets out a strangled groan before sinking back into the bed, reaching for the edge. Which she can't find. Her eyebrows knit together as she slowly—_very_ slowly—turns her head to look. Whatever size this bed is, it's bigger than king-size.

She opens her eyes again, slowly turning her head to glance around the room. She would think it was a guest room, if not for a few small touches. The walls are painted a soft green, when the guest rooms are themed in blue. Photos are scattered around the room. One of two boys around the same age and a toddler girl sits on the desk, next to one of what has to be the Queen family at Christmas. The one on the nightstand makes her eyebrows lift: a candid shot of Oliver and her at Verdant's opening. There's a smirk on her lips, while Oliver has one of those soft smiles she likes to think he reserves exclusively for her. She doesn't remember that one, but she _does_ remember Thea snapping photos on her phone non-stop.

This is Oliver's room in Queen Manor, a place he only takes her after things go _very_ wrong.

The night’s events come flooding back. Helena tapped her on the chest three times. Well, that isn’t fair—technically, Helena had been trying to shoot Laurel. Felicity just dove in front of the bullets. She remembers, vaguely, waking up in the base with a puffy-eyed Oliver standing over her and a head full of strong painkillers. There was a short walk to his car, then she remembers her eyes closing against the bright lights of Starling City. He must have brought her here carried her up to his room afterward.

Felicity sighs, though it turns into a choked gasp when it makes her chest burn. Slower this time, she sits up, with only moderate amounts of pain. Her hand fumbles on the nightstand automatically for glasses that aren’t there. Oh, her contacts are still in from her work as Deathstroke earlier tonight.

Moving slowly, she throws her legs over the edge of the bed, sliding off the edge. Her ribcage is tight and her shoulders feel like they have lead weights on them, but at least she's upright. Felicity scans the room for any sign of Oliver, knowing he wouldn't have gone far. He isn't at the desk and the huge walk-in closet's light is off. The sound of water reaches her ears, and she turns for the bathroom.

When she pushes the door open, steam filters out. While the shower's glass is frosted for privacy, she can make out the silhouette of Oliver's figure. He stands directly under the spray, water running off his head. If her chest didn't already feel like hell, her breath would have caught.

"Hey," she manages to croak out.

Oliver's head snaps up immediately. "How are you feeling? Do you need anything?" The questions are rapid-fire, so fast that her aching head barely has time to process his words. He reaches for the faucet.

"I'm fine," Felicity assures him. "I mean, I feel like a truck ran over me, backed up, and did it again." She tries to shrug a shoulder before her body reminds her that is a horrible idea. "Other than that, I'm okay." She rolls her neck, and it cracks in several places. "Remind me not to take bullets for anyone ever again."

Her only answer comes in the form of the shower faucet squeaking as he turns it off. He reaches for a towel that isn't there before sighing. "Could you pass me a towel?"

Felicity reaches in the cabinet, a smirk playing on her lips as another piece of cloth catches her eye. Leaning her back against the glass, she pushes her arm through the shower door, handing him the tiny washcloth.

It's a moment before his low chuckle greets her ears. After hearing his voice watery and broken, it's an even better sound than usual. "I'm not sure this is going to cover anything, Felicity."

"That's kind of the point, Oliver." She closes her eyes, the back of her head hitting the glass wall of the shower. "You have too much... _pretty_ to cover it all up. If you ever want anyone to appreciate your body, I'm your girl."

This time his laugh comes easier. He's starting to sound like _her_ Oliver again. "Don't be cute, Felicity."

She bites her lip to keep from laughing, certain it will pull on her stitches and make her chest ache. "It's hard for me _not_ to be cute, Oliver." This time she throws a full-sized towel at him.

"I might have realized that," he agrees, but this time his voice comes just by her ear. When she turns to him, the smile on his lips does nothing to block the intensity in his eyes. In any other situation, Felicity is sure he'd already be hugging her, if he wasn't concerned about hurting her.

For now, he settles for pressing a kiss to her hair, but that just isn't enough. She turns to him, wrapping her arms around his waist. His fall against her back, his touch light and careful. It's not the same as a _real_ hug, but it still feels distinctly like home.

"Let me get some clothes on, and I'll check your stitches," he offers.

"If you insist." She sighs, and the corners of his mouth twitch upward. "Have you ever noticed that we do this wrong? I'm going to have to take my clothes _off_, and here you are, rushing to put yours _on_. Seems like we need to work on our timing."

"That's because our relationship doesn't revolve around sex," Oliver reminds her. As if she needs reminding. She's in the middle of a dry spell big enough to rival the Sahara, and she knows his has been even longer than hers.

He steps around her, but Felicity keeps stride with him. Something in her just can't seem to resist goading him, especially when he starts to run away. "You told me once that you thought about having sex with me."

"We were both very drunk at the time." Turning, Oliver meets her eyes with a seriousness she doesn't expect. "_You_ asked _me_ if I thought about having sex with you." There's a fire in his expression that, in two years together, Felicity has never seen before. "_I_ told _you_ that you shouldn't ask questions you don't want answered."

It sounded like a threat that night when she was drunk, but right now, it sounds like a challenge. She crosses her arms. "Try me, Queen."

His callused fingers move to cup her face, and Felicity leans into his touch. Oliver's thumb rubs circles across her cheekbone, before his touch slides down her neck to her collar bone, leaving a trail of fire where his hand has been. When he speaks again, his voice comes out in a whisper: "I want so much more from you than just sex, Felicity."

When he moves to walk out this time, Felicity can't find it in her to stop him. She isn't sure if it's the bullet wounds or the steam or his words, but her breath comes hard and shallow. It has to be one of those, but probably the last one. Sometimes, when he says something so sweet with that much conviction, the swell of affection she has for Oliver is so strong it _hurts_. God, she loves that man. For the first time, it strikes her that she always will.

Somewhere along the way, he became her be all, end all.

"Well," she says to the mirror, "this is _really_ inconvenient."

* * *

By the time Oliver returns to his _en suite_ bathroom in fresh clothes and with a first aid kit, some of the steam has dissipated from the room. Felicity's breathing seems to require less effort now, which he finds himself grateful for.

He almost lost her tonight. Sure, there have been close calls before, but none like this. She died on the metal gurney in the base enough times that he thought each would be the last. When she turns and smiles at him now, he would never guess she had been fighting for her life just a few hours ago.

The day they met, she told him she wouldn't die without a fight. It's a promise she seems intent upon keeping, much to his relief.

Her shoulders may sag and the light in her eyes might have dulled, but Felicity is just as alert as ever. Other than the dark circles under her eyes, no one would even notice anything was off. But Oliver has known her far too long not to notice the signs. Her skin has an ashy pallor, her eyelids sag, and her normally straight posture is slouching. But she's alive. That counts for something.

When she sees the first aid kit in his hands, she takes it from him, placing it on the counter. Slowly, she slides off her pants—well, the pair of his sweatpants that she borrowed from their base. The baggy shirt is his, too, falling to mid-thigh.

His eyes automatically linger over those legs. They might be marked with the scars from her battles, but that only makes her more beautiful. Felicity's strength is permanently etched into her skin.

Though she tries to lift herself onto the table, her wince has Oliver moving toward her. Instead of making her strain her stitches, he lifts her onto the counter by her hips. As soon as she situates herself, she pulls the edge of the shirt over her head.

Oliver can barely breathe at the sight before him. In the time he's known her, he has never seen her so exposed—so freely baring herself to anyone. The only things she has on are a hunter green sports bra and a pair of black cotton underwear, leaving little to his already active imagination.

Felicity is nowhere near her best. Her hair is halfway falling out of her French braid, and what is still in place is matted, tangled with blood and sweat. There are three patches of purple suture in her chest, two bullets in her thigh, just below her hip. Her skin is pale from the blood loss, her eyelids droop from the fatigue, and there's a mottled bruise forming on her left shoulder.

She's the most beautiful thing he's ever seen.

Shaking his head, Oliver turns his attention to the two bullets in her thigh. They're shallow and come out quickly without the need for more sutures. He douses the wounds with hydrogen peroxide, and Felicity doesn't even flinch. She's had worse tonight.

His attention moves to his chest as he steps in between her legs to examine the bullet wounds more closely. A snort of laughter leaves Felicity. "My eyes are up here, Oliver." When his eyes meet hers, a smirk plays on her lips, but it isn't quite right.

"You don't have to joke to make me feel better, Felicity." Her eyes flick away, and he knows his guess is correct. "You almost died tonight and..." Oliver takes a deep breath through his nose. Neither one of them bring up how shaky it is. "I'm... dealing with that. But you're alive and you're here. That makes everything okay."

"You cried." Felicity's voice dips to a whisper, breaking a little on the word. "That's not okay, Oliver. You're one of the strongest people I know, and I'm sorry I did that to you."

He lifts a shoulder. "Everyone has soft spots, Felicity." His eyes dip back to her wounds, dabbing at the fresh blood around them with the hydrogen peroxide. "You're one of mine. A very big one."

A sigh rattles out of him, and he drops his hands to the counter, leaning forward. Felicity's fingernails scratch against his scalp as she runs her hands through his hair. "Seeing you like that... it nearly killed me." His confession croaks out in a whisper. "I couldn't even be mad at you for stepping in front of the bullets. If you hadn't, you wouldn't be the woman I've fallen in love with."

"I love you, too, Oliver." The laugh that bubbles out is watery. "Sometimes so much it scares me." As always, she meets his confession with one of her own, spoken in a low tone. "Do you know how _terrifying_ it is for me to love someone who knows every side of me? I keep waiting for the moment that you get enough and walk away."

In an instant, Oliver pulls Felicity against him. She fists the fabric of his shirt, breathing against him like a lifeline. "Honey, I promise I'm not going anywhere." This is a fundamental fact in his universe, and how she doesn't recognize it is a mystery. He could live longer without oxygen than he could without her. "I'm yours."

The noise she makes in the back of her throat is probably accompanied by an eye roll that Oliver can't see. "That makes it sound like you're my property. Complete ownership." Felicity snorts. "That's bullshit. I don't want you to _belong_ to me. I want us to be here because we _want_ to be. I choose you, you choose me."

"Already done." She tilts her head up to meet his eyes, so close he can feel her breath on his face. "Whenever you're ready to choose me, I'm here." He's wanted more than her friendship for over a year now, even though Felicity feels she needs more time. "You're worth waiting for."

The sentence she mutters against his chest sounds distinctly like _I already _have_ chosen you_. The smile comes to his face involuntarily. "I'm trying to get my shit together, I swear. It's just... there's a _lot_ of shit, Oliver, and I don't want any of my shit to destroy us." She pauses. "That was _way_ too many shits in one setting."

Oliver sighs, even as he fights back a smile. "Everyone brings baggage into a relationship, Felicity. Yours can't be any worse than mine." Hot breath puffs against his chest as she sighs. "I don't want to push you into something you aren't ready for, but I'm not perfect."

"Hell no, you aren't," she mutters into his chest.

His lips twitch, but Oliver ignores her. "And neither are you—"

"Maybe not, but I'm damn close."

"—but I've been told that relationships aren't about both parties being perfect. We seem to be pretty amazing together." His lips twist upward. "Even if it took you a while to realize it in the beginning."

Her head pulls upward, eyes narrowed and mouth open in protest. "I can't help it if—"

It has to be done, and done now. Not doing so would be a crime, or a lie of omission. Instead of overthinking it, Oliver just acts. His lips meet hers, soft and gentle. Her lips move once, twice against his before she freezes.

Just when he's about to pull back and stammer an apology, Felicity _melts_. Her hands go to either side of his face, cupping his jaw as she presses her lips to his hard enough that he tastes blood. He pulls her tight to him, and her legs lock around his waist as his hands roam to her waist.

Her passion surprises him; he's imagined their first kiss as slow and delicate. Now he realizes how wrong he is. Of course Felicity would kiss him hard and brutal. A woman who wages war on the streets every night would make love the same way.

It's Felicity who deepens the kiss, who demands more. Suddenly her hands are beneath his shirt, dipping over his abdomen with her fingernails. A strangled moan leaves him, only to feel her smirk against his mouth. Then she's dragging his bottom lip between her teeth.

Not one to be outdone, Oliver lets his hands wander, skimming her sides until he grazes the edges of her bra. Felicity stutters a breath into his mouth before pushing his shirt up. Oliver complies with her unspoken request, breaking the kiss to pull his shirt up and over his head.

Felicity's hands immediately wander over his chest and back, ignoring every scar and imperfection. Oliver lets his mouth wander to her shoulder, and she grabs his wrist, moving it to palm her breast. He takes the hint, though his focus is mostly on the way her hands keep wandering down his abdomen. Her fingers dip below his waistband at the same time that his slip under the edge of her bra. Felicity gasps, while he groans into her shoulder.

A knock comes from the door, and they break apart immediately. Felicity leans back against the mirror on the wall, still coated with steam from the shower—or their more recent activities; he can't tell.

Thea's voice calls through the door, "Ollie, have you seen Felicity?" Oliver meets Felicity's eyes; they've definitely seen quite a bit of each other tonight. "She isn't in the Lilac Room, and I know that's your favorite guest bedroom. She isn't downstairs, either."

Before he can respond, Felicity calls out, "I'm in here." Her voice only wavers slightly, still throaty from their activities. She reaches over, pulling her shirt over her head. Oliver follows suit. "Oliver was just pulling the last of the bullets from my leg and checking my stitches."

Oliver helps her down from the counter, smiling at the way she looks thoroughy kissed. A flush is back on her cheeks, her lips swollen and eyes bright. "Talk about it later?" she offers in a low voice. Felicity rises on her toes to kiss the corner of his mouth. It feels like an assurance that he didn't move too fast, that he isn't going to scare her away.

He nods once before pulling his shirt on, eyes following her every move as she slides her pants back on. Oliver reaches for the door before she does, praying he doesn't look like he's been making out with Felicity in his bathroom.

If Thea notices, she says nothing, "Ollie told me what happened, and I was so worried! How are you feeling? Do you need to sit down? Want something to eat?" She reaches for Felicity's arm.

Oliver knows it's a mistake, but is powerless to stop it. The sudden movement makes Felicity flinch back, and Thea withdraws her hand. "Sorry," Felicity offers quickly. "It's just a natural reaction to sudden movements."

This time, Thea stretches her hand out, the motion exaggerated. Oliver watches Felicity tense in preparation for the contact. It's a feeling he understands well: another person's touch isn't always comforting. Not after what they've been forced to endure.

"I'm _fine_, Thea," Felicity assures her with a muted laugh. She pulls away from Thea's comforting hand. "Just tired and in need of a very long, very hot shower."

"I'll get some food together." Oliver steps out of the bathroom, pushing Thea along with him. She shoots him a look, but says nothing before exiting the room. "Is there anything you want?"

"You." The word makes Oliver's eyebrows shoot up, even as her own eyes widen. "I mean, just some time around you. I feel like you need some comfort right now."

She pokes a thumb over her shoulder. "I would ask you to wash my hair for me, but I think that would be a bad idea right now. The two of us in the shower, all steamed up, sounds like a dangerous combination for my stitches."

Felicity isn't wrong; the last time they showered together, he could barely keep his hands—and eyes—off of her. He can only imagine what it would be like now, with that kiss lingering between them.

Somehow what comes out of his mouth is, "They come out in two weeks."

When she laughs, he's sure that flowers grow in her wake. "So we'll revisit this conversation in two weeks." It sounds like a promise.

"Because, Oliver?" She shifts her weight, eyes leaving his. "I _did_ choose you. A long time ago. And it _terrifies _me because I've spent so much time alone. Wanting someone, _needing_ someone goes against everything I've believed for so long. I just need some time to get it right in my head."

He kisses her again, but this time his lips settle upon her cheek. "I'll be here."


End file.
